


Sword of Doubt

by SkyWrites



Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: Angst, Battle, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Guilt, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrites/pseuds/SkyWrites
Summary: After the events that saved their world, after the destruction and war of so many kingdoms, Beatrix returns to Burmecia to face the atrocities that she committed.A year later and the kingdom is still in ruins, a husk of its former self. Yet Freya remains, guarding it and the precious few of her people with her life.Old wounds will bleed anew under the eternal rain.
Relationships: Beatrix/Freya Crescent
Comments: 16
Kudos: 7





	1. Sword of Doubt

Warm rain bled onto her armor. It seeped into her hair, it stung her lone eye, but she did not shield herself from it. She would not. Even the eternal rain in Burmecia couldn’t drown the memories she had of this place, the memories that _she_ created. The screams that even roaring thunder could not subdue.

Beatrix’s hand never strayed far from her sword hilt. Not because she feared danger here, because it had become second nature. She was a stubborn woman and her prowess in battle was her only pride. What other accomplishments did she have to speak of? Massacring an innocent kingdom? Leading a genocide against what used to be her allies? All that and her own kingdom of Alexandria was still in ruins much like Burmecia.

She was nothing but the brutal edge of her sword. She was the bile in one’s mouth as they choked on their final breath, a monster of rage and jealousy. She was no knight. A knight is meant to be more than brute strength, a knight is someone who upheld her honor, who protected the weak, not someone who slaughtered them.

So then, what was Beatrix doing here? Back at the still bleeding corpse of Burmecia, where the buildings lay in a crumpled heap of rot and mold, why did she come back? At least she had destroyed Cleyra, at least she had given it a quick death. But here in Burmecia, Beatrix was sloppy. She had left the kingdom and its people on the streets to die from infection of her wounds, to suffer the venomous jealousy of her blade.

Even a year later, this town could barely do more than drown. The buildings staggered and shambled around her like bloated corpses, crumbling and full of mildew, lifeless yet holding the memories of the lives of so many. These were not like ancient ruins. These wounds were still fresh, still aching.

Somehow, dark terrified eyes found hers. They scurried through the collapsing buildings, hid their whiskers away behind barely patched windows, hid their whimpers under the endless agony of the rain.

They feared Beatrix.

And why not? They had every reason to fear her, to loathe her. It was what she wanted back then. She wanted to command respect from all, no matter the cost. Fear was simply an efficient means to an end. She wanted respect. In this twisted nightmare of her own doing, she had gotten it.

Something shimmered under the tearful raindrops of the dark skies. Life. Blood. Red. Angry. It pierced the black like a bolt of thunder, it screamed into her blade, a raging and hateful thing pushed against its limits.

Beatrix’s instincts kicked in. That’s all she had, that’s all she was. She couldn’t fight it, even if she wanted to. Her sword blocked the spear between its prongs, it barely held back the rage. Its pointed edge trembled before her final good eye and while Beatrix felt she no longer deserved it; her body would not allow defeat to come so easily.

“ _You!”_ It hissed through the rain like acid, it burned Beatrix’s mind. “How _dare_ you come back here?!”

The one known as Freya towered over Beatrix, her silver hair drenched in the tears of Burmecia, coat bleeding with rust and red. Her teeth shone like fangs, but Beatrix remembered this sight too well when she led the attack on Burmecia, remembered her own thoughts.

_The rodents think themselves predators with fangs._

Beatrix tried to shake those memories off her, tried to deflect, anything. But they pinned her down, they left her nowhere to maneuver.

“I mean your people no harm!” Beatrix shouted, voice trembling with doubt as much as her sword.

Freya leaned in, overpowering Beatrix in their struggle. “You mean us no harm?! You mean us no harm?! You have no right to say that after you destroyed us! After you killed us like… like…!”

_Like rats. Pests meant to be swatted away._

Beatrix’s muscles spasmed and she pushed Freya away in a surge of strength. She only wanted to fight the memories, yet she still raised her sword.

“I wish only to atone for my sins! I want to help rebuild!” Beatrix shouted.

Freya circled Beatrix, her spear tip still aimed at that last eye. “You have done enough. You can _never_ atone for what you’ve done.”

Beatrix flinched. It struck her, it pierced through her armor, but she didn’t cry out. She would never cry out. She didn’t deserve to.

Beatrix’s blade seemed to have a mind of its own. It screeched against Freya’s spear like a wild beast, it tried to cut down the nightmares in her mind. “I understand that, but please! Allow me to try!”

Freya glared at the swords edge; saw the way it nearly sliced the whiskers at her snout. She leapt high into the mourning skies, vanished into the sorrow filled black.

“Why would I ever allow you?” Freya shouted from the dark skies. Beatrix couldn’t find her, didn’t know where to look, didn’t know where to block. “You only wish to help yourself; you only wish to soothe your own guilt!”

Beatrix’s sword shook. “I… I don’t!”

Thunder howled through the broken skies. “ **LIAR!** ”

Beatrix’s stance faltered. Her feet slipped on the broken tiles, on the slick mud, on the blood that she left on this kingdom.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Freya’s voice rang out, like a broken bell across the ruins of her home. “The pain you’ve inflicted on us, the suffering you caused to thousands! The families _you_ tore apart! The children you killed!”

Beatrix’s sword wavered. It still gripped her; she could never fully control it. Her mind reeled; her chest ached with the pressure of a thousand screaming souls. She couldn’t fight her past, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how long she trained.

Freya’s voice still drifted under the skies, across the decaying homes of her people. “Yet you only feel a fraction of the pain you caused. You will _never_ understand the agony you’ve inflicted on me, the atrocities you’ve committed to my people.”

Beatrix’s mouth moved against her will. Her voice rang out like a trembling blade. “My home was destroyed, too!”

The wind thrashed like a seizure against Beatrix’s armor. She tried to cut into it, kill it just like everything else. Freya appeared on the other side, her spear piercing Beatrix’s coat. It ripped apart into shreds as Beatrix faced Freya’s wrath, only barely, just barely able to deflect her stabs.

“Your people will live; your people will rebuild! You already have hope!” Freya’s spear screamed through cold, dying air. “Look at us, look at what you have done to us! You are blind! You don’t deserve the eye you have!”

And still, against her will, Beatrix fought back. She clashed weapons with Freya, she aimed for Freya’s chest, aimed for her neck. But Freya was stronger than their previous fights before, Freya fought for the honor of her people.

“I was told you were all a threat to Alexandria!” Beatrix screamed, her blade useless against Freya’s agility.

“Were we a threat when we fell on your sword?!” Freya cried. “Were we a threat as you stabbed us in the back?!”

Beatrix knew she had no counter; knew she had no battle strategy here. Her instincts had always kept her alive, had always kept her going. She was more beast than woman, she knew that. But she didn’t want this, not anymore.

“I am sorry!” Beatrix cried out, desperate, still striking at Freya.

“Your apologies are as hollow as you!” Freya’s spear sliced across Beatrix’s blade, ran up her arm and across her face. It cut through her eyepatch, left it in tatters in the bloodied dirt.

Beatrix did not flinch as her arm bled, as her useless scar tissue still tried to glare into Freya’s fierce eyes, dripping with rain.

“You took everything away from me,” Freya said, her voice softer, weaker. “You turned my people into nothing more than meek prey. I was already a failure as a knight, and you dragged what little honor I had through the mud. I am stripped of everything because of my weakness, because I could not stop someone as base as you.”

_What?_

“No!” Beatrix used her lame arm, bloodied and weak to lash out against Freya’s spear. “You are not a failure!” _I am the failure as a knight!_

Freya’s weapon was nearly as limp as Beatrix’s. “How dare you say that to me? Look around, look around with what little sight that you have left! I have failed to protect my people not once, but _twice_.” Rain trickled down the brim of her hat, down into red, into dirt, into mold and moss and mulch and earth and ash. Where her people lay broken and half buried.

“You can still yet fight! It was not your failure that did this!” Beatrix’s sword swung, but Freya didn’t even flinch. _It is my fault! It was my failure that brought this!_

“I have nothing left but ash and still water tainted with the blood of my people,” Freya said. “No kingdom, no family, no honor. I am nothing.”

Beatrix stumbled before Freya, bleeding and trembling; sword held out endlessly. Freya dropped her weapon. “That is not true! You can—you can still defeat me!”

Freya’s wet eyes met with Beatrix’s lone eye finally. She said nothing.

“Pick up your weapon, soldier!” Beatrix commanded, her breath heaving, her vision filled with fog and rain.

Freya refused. “I am a soldier no more. I am a knight of nothing.”

Even as she bled, even as the world faded around her, even as her mind screamed with the voices of her victims, Beatrix still fought. She shoved her sword into Freya, shoved the blade into her chest.

“What are you…?” Freya pulled the sword out of Beatrix’s limp grip, held it in her claws. It didn’t pierce the crest of Burmecia that Freya wore, it didn’t hurt her. Nothing Beatrix could do would ever hurt Freya anymore.

“You have beaten me,” Beatrix whimpered, legs trembling. She held onto Freya’s shoulder, somehow still refusing to fall. “It is your right to kill me. To avenge your people.”

Freya eyed the royal sword in her hand. Save the Queen. Beatrix couldn’t even do that. It was as empty as her. It shone like gold and bile under the dark light of Burmecian skies. It was a beautiful blade, much like Beatrix used to think herself, but it was drenched in blood. So much blood. Its beauty hid its twisted nature. It was no more than a crooked rotting tooth of a beast. It was a weapon of nightmares, stripped of its honor. It deserved to end Beatrix.

Freya stepped back. Beatrix lost her grip and fell into the dirt like a lump of flesh. She took a sharp inhale of mud and stagnant water and felt the copper in her teeth, felt the screaming pain in her arm and her scarred eye. She waited for the end of her miserable existence, she hoped that her pathetic death in someway might help Freya, might give Burmecia the will to live on.

She longed for the cold edge to strike her neck, to pierce her spine, anything! But as she cried into the ash, into the corpse of Burmecia, she only felt their tears hit her back. Darkness swarmed in her vision like vultures.

“Kill me!” Beatrix screamed. “You deserve this! I am beaten, I am a pathetic husk of a woman! I lay before you, humiliated and dishonored!”

Still, Freya did not respond.

Beatrix looked up, groveling at Freya’s feet. “Why do you falter?! Do what you will with me! Stab me, torture me, anything! I deserve it!”

Freya’s eyes shimmered like Mist. She held Save the Queen in one of her claws but held out one hand to Beatrix. “Get up.”

Beatrix didn’t understand, but she would not disobey. She clasped her bloodied hand around Freya’s, felt the soaked fur, the deadly lifeblood between them. Her knees shook. Beatrix could no longer stand. Freya pressed her against one of the many crumbling walls of Burmecia, forcing her up, forcing her to see Freya under the storm clouds.

Her vision, her hands, her chest, everything shivered. Beatrix had never felt so weak. She had always so desperately run from this feeling, fought against it kicking and screaming. She never allowed herself this, never until now.

Freya’s eyes pierced into Beatrix, looked over her crumpled bloody body, compared her to the ruins she stood upon. Save the Queen shone with a dull and muddied edge in her claws, readied. She held Beatrix up, she controlled what happened next.

Freya dove into Beatrix, snout first, her teeth hitting Beatrix’s, clumsy and unsure. Beatrix’s lips opened in a gasp, merely allowing Freya to steal what little breath she had left in her throat, allowing Freya to take everything. She felt all of Freya’s sorrow, all of Freya’s loss as they gasped into each other, as Freya propped Beatrix up like the puppet she was.

When their teeth separated, their lips no longer a confusing mess of rain and blood, Beatrix could only stare in confusion at the broken knight in red before her. “…Why?”

“You are mine,” Freya answered back, sword still at her side. “To do with as I please.”

Beatrix couldn’t understand. The blood and dirt at her lips was gone, taken by Freya. “Why not kill me?”

Freya seemed to shrug under the torrential weight of rain at her shoulders. “Zidane… That idiot must have infected me. Even Vivi, the poor boy, he showed me what it means to suffer and what it means to still go on, to still try anyway.”

Beatrix didn’t dare speak.

“Enough blood has been spilt on this ground,” Freya said, her voice nearly choking. “Killing you won’t bring my people back, won’t fix what you have broken.” She looked at Beatrix, eyes as sharp as a spear. “Maybe it would bring me a crumb of peace, maybe some nights my nightmares would be replaced by images of your death at my hand, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough for what you did to us.”

Beatrix tried to stand on her own, tried to grip the cracks of the home behind, but Freya still held her up.

“I will use you for what you are worth,” Freya growled. “You will help us rebuild, you will fall down in the mud just like all of us, you will use those beastly fangs of yours to protect my people from the monsters that feast on us like prey, from monsters like you.”

Beatrix nodded. “I understand.”

“And don’t you ever think that this is forgiveness,” Freya hissed. “I will decide if I can ever forgive you. You will never fix the damage you’ve caused, but I must take everything I can get.”

Beatrix’s trembling slowed, felt the strength returning to her knees. “I will give you everything, Freya. My life. My death. Everything. Anything.”

A cool wind blew through Beatrix, wrapped around her arm. It was not violent, it was not forceful, merely sad. It soothed the pain in her sword arm, closed the bleeding wounds, but left the scar for all to be seen. Freya’s healing magic.

Freya’s grip loosened. She sighed, a dark thing. “I accept.” She allowed Beatrix to stand on her own two feet again. “I have seen enough death, enough misery for a lifetime. I hope now only for life. Come. We have much work to do.”

Beatrix nodded like she had done so many times to her superiors, to her queens before. She quickly fell in step next to Freya.

Freya held out the sword, a symbol of decadence and decay, and allowed Beatrix to take it back. She would not hide it; she would not throw it away. Beatrix sheathed the sword at her side and stood near to Freya, whom she would give everything to for as long as breath passed through her lips.


	2. Rose

Freya’s sleep was rarely peaceful, even before she witnessed the destruction of her people. When Fratley left her all those years ago, she spent many nights tossing and turning and dreaming of better times. It only grew worse as time went on.

_Freya, you’re going to be fine. Trust your strength… and have faith in your destiny._

His words ate her insides. ‘ _Trust your strength…_ ’

…

In her nightmares, she saw Burmecia already destroyed. In her nightmares, she saw Cleyra turn to ash. How could she ever trust in her own strength after failing so miserably?

In Freya’s nightmares, she often saw _her._ General Beatrix. Her sword was coated in red, yet all praised her beauty. They saw her sword as a blossoming rose, petals dripping with dew under the morning light.

Freya’s people approached Beatrix, smiles at their snouts, tails relaxed and trusting. Beatrix held out her rose, offering peace, offering beauty. They accepted. Why wouldn’t they? They had been allies for decades.

When they reached, Beatrix plunged her rose into their stomachs. As it skewered them, it never looked any less beautiful, any less pristine — perfect. Petals oozed down its thorns, down into red puddles at her feet. She didn’t blink, she showed no emotion. She merely offered her rose to the next.

They accepted again. Why?! Why did they accept it again?! Each time they would reach out to her rose, and each time they fell to her feet, a beautiful corpse drowning in petals.

In her nightmare, Freya called out to them, tried to stop them, anything! But they couldn’t escape. Some ran, some could see the rose for what it was, but Beatrix left them with no choice. Some cowered against corners with nowhere else to turn. Beatrix merely bent down and held out her rose, that same blank expression across her face.

What choice did they have?! What choice was there?! They took it and became another flower in her collection.

And then… all that was left was Freya. In the black and red of her nightmares, all she saw was Beatrix.

Don’t accept it! Don’t accept it! Fight her! You’re strong! For a moment, Freya could see the rose for what it was, a blood-drenched blade, rusted with use. Freya slashed and stabbed and clawed against it, against her, but somehow it was never good enough. She always returned. And she always held out her rose.

Only once did she smile. Only once. As Freya plunged her spear into Beatrix’s stomach and flowers spurted out of her spine, she grinned. A hand pulled Freya away, turned her around. It was Beatrix. She was unharmed.

She held out her rose.

Freya fell to her knees. What else could she do? What else could she have done?! As the blood of her people rained down and coagulated into broken bodies at her feet, she knew there was nothing left to protect anymore. They were gone. She had lost.

Freya finally accepted the rose. And in her nightmare, she felt its thorns skewer her insides, tear her organs to shreds, all while Beatrix looked on, unimpressed. She left Freya in her beautiful graveyard of flowers just like all the others. Freya was no different.

…

…

…

Freya woke gasping, acid caught in her throat. She sat at her bed’s edge, tossing away the tattered sheets she slept under. Rain poured outside the broken window, the morning light bringing in its silver yet dim light.

“My lady!” a voice called out from beyond Freya’s broken bedroom. There was no door, there was next to nothing but a bed and some debris here, but Freya would not allow herself to take one of the few repaired buildings in Burmecia. Those were for her citizens.

 _Who calls out to me…?_ Freya held a claw at her forehead and coughed, still trying to expel the nightmare from her system. Some sad part of Freya expected Fratley to appear at her bedside, despite knowing he was still missing, had still forgotten her.

“Are you all right, my lady?” the shadowy figure said, running into her room. Freya tensed, felt her heart leap into her throat, hackles raised.

“What are you doing here?” Freya snarled; mind still lost in fog. It was the creature from her nightmares.

Beatrix.

But… she was different. As Beatrix walked into the gray light of Burmecian morning, Freya noticed the tatters in her outfit, the muddy red stains splotched upon her once pristine figure. A long scar ran up her arm where Freya had struck her in a rage. She wore no eyepatch any longer, revealing her missing eye in all its gruesomeness. Her brown hair was drenched nearly black by the endless rain. She must have stayed all night in it.

“Guarding you, my lady,” Beatrix said evenly. “Your home has many openings for potential attackers.”

Freya narrowed her eyes. “You would be privy to that information, wouldn’t you?” The acid still burned her throat, still clung to her teeth. She remembered their previous battle, but it was a haze of confusion and rage.

Beatrix winced, but ignored it. “Are you all right, my lady?” Freya continued to cough.

“I’m fine.” Freya tried to brush her away, brush the past out. Only the present mattered now.

“Here.” Beatrix held out a canteen with a rose insignia. Freya’s claws tightened. “Some water. It is from the morning rain. I have cleaned it to perfection. I would offer you a canteen that doesn’t belong to me but,” she paused. “I cannot find anything. I did not drink from this, I promise you, my lady.”

Freya stared at the rose in Beatrix’s hand. Acid choked her throat. She nearly gasped for air, she remembered the pain in her stomach, the death in her eyes. But that was a nightmare. What good would it do to hold onto such a painful fantasy?

She snatched the rose from Beatrix’s hand, half expecting to find a sword enter her spine. Nothing. Beatrix merely stepped back. Freya drank the cold Burmecian rain, washed away the acid in her throat. Her coughing stilled.

Freya stopped herself from saying ‘ _Thank you_.’ Beatrix showed no disdain, perhaps she even expected it.

“You may keep it, my lady,” Beatrix said, facing away from Freya, staring at the cracked shadowed walls of this ruined home. “I have no need for such a thing here.”

 _Why does she keep calling me that? ‘My lady?’_ It infuriated her, yet… _I think I would be much angrier if she called me Freya._ Freya placed the rose canteen at her bedside. It had its uses. She couldn’t deny that.

Freya went back to her previous line of questioning. “Why are you guarding me?” The venom in her throat was gone, but that didn’t mean she trusted Beatrix. “I am the last person that needs guarding here.”

Beatrix nodded. “I understand your concerns, my lady. I tried to patrol the streets of Burmecia, to guard the residents here, but…” She couldn’t make eye contact. “There was no denying the unrest I was causing simply with my presence. I spent the night watching over them from a distance and when morning came, I decided it would be for the best if I guarded you instead where I would not bother the people.”

_Her presence will cause more than just unrest, certainly. What was I thinking, allowing her to stay?_

**I should have killed her.**

Freya looked down at her knees. **You can still kill her. She would accept it. She is broken. Humiliated. Strike her down. Avenge your people. They would cheer for her head.**

Freya’s spear stood close to her broken bed frame. Its sharp edge called to her, yearned for red. It would be so easy. And just like everything else, it would be washed away in the rain.

Beatrix’s eye flashed toward the spear as well. Just for a moment. 

_Does she know, I wonder? That I am contemplating on killing her._ Freya sighed, deep and agonizing and tired. _I can’t. Am I still weak? Or am I doing the right thing? Or is there something else…?_

Freya stood up. She grabbed her coat and her hat and looked down on Beatrix. “There is much work to be done. There will always be work.” She left her crumbling home and looked out into the silver skies as they rained down on the ruins of Burmecia. A few of her people were already up and scavenging the broken grounds for supplies.

“What would you ask of me, my lady?” Beatrix stood to Freya’s side. “Give me a command and I shall do it.”

Freya saw, along with everything else, the dark circles under Beatrix’s eye. “Have you not slept?”

Beatrix nearly didn’t answer. “I have not. I promise it will not affect my performance, my lady.”

Freya shook her head but could find nothing else to say on the subject. “Homes. Construction. Right now, shelter is what we are in dire need of. We can’t even get help from neighboring kingdoms as they have all suffered incredible losses as well. They have little to aid us. We are alone, but we _will_ not die.”

Beatrix nodded.

“My people won’t feel comfortable with you around,” Freya said. Beatrix didn’t flinch this time, merely nodded. “I will help them with construction for the day. Your duty will be to find and kill any monsters in and around the area. You are to stay out of sight from any Burmecians or Cleyrans if possible. Is that understood?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Good. Get going then.”

Beatrix’s heavy boots splashed in the rain as she dashed to the outskirts of the city. Freya made sure to keep an eye on her.

* * *

As the silver of morning faded into evening obsidian, Freya wiped the rain and sweat from her brow. Another hard day of labor, another day of construction. The home she and the others finished still leaked, still had cracks and moss bleeding through its shell, but it was livable. It was livable and that’s what mattered. 

There was a door for locking, a window to hide in, a fireplace that wasn’t soaking wet, and a storage area for precious belongings and even food if they ever had surplus. It wasn’t much, but it was _something_. One more acceptable shelter, one more family that might regain hope.

“Thank you so much for this, Lady Freya,” a surviving Burmecian soldier, Dane said. “I’ve spent so long dying of thirst in the desert, or soaked to the bone in Burmecia, or scavenging like a—well like a rat—for my family. I don’t think I ever expected to find somewhere I could call home ever again.”

 _Lady Freya…_ This title was starting to gain traction around the refugees. Freya tried not to dismiss it; she did not want to disparage what little joy the broken soldier might have. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Freya replied, watching as the man’s child splashed across the tiles and mud nearby.

The little ratling wore nothing but tatters and dirt across his fur. He dragged a ragged stuffed Moogle around with him like it was his only possession. He giggled and cheered at this pathetic hovel that they were forced to call home and his eyes shone with a cheer that must have been missing for so long. He sprinted around back to get a better view.

“ _Joshua!_ ” the mother suddenly cried out, like a bolt of lightning. The boy ran back to her, the light in his eyes already dimming. She wrapped her arms around him, her whiskers wet with rain and despair. “What have I told you? You need to stay in my sight at all times!”

“I know, but…” the child started. “We have a home again, mom. Isn’t it okay?”

“Not yet, Joshua, not yet.” She hugged him again. “Please. It may be cruel but remember what happened to your sister.”

The innocence in the child’s eyes faded, drifted into misty fog. It was a look that Freya wished she had only seen in soldiers. “I know, mom… I promise, I won’t run off. I still have her doll, see?”

The mother smiled, but still the rain fell down her cheeks. Dane returned to them and urged them inside, whispering broken condolences, empty promises that things were going to get better.

Freya couldn’t bear to watch any longer. She grabbed her coat and leapt away, far away, near the outskirts of the gate.

Just like how she had run away so long ago, she ran again.

 _Lady Freya…_ It repeated over and over in her mind. _I do not deserve such a title._ She clenched her jaw, felt the lump in her throat. _They look to me now like…. like…_

_A queen._

She smashed her claw into the mud and rubble. 

_A queen! It is royalty who did this to them. Who did this to us! It is those with titles like General and Queen that devastated us, who stole everything from me! I don’t want to become someone like that, I WILL not become one of them!_

_And how could I anyway? A coward like me, a failure like me…!_

She pulled the brim of her hat over her eyes. In the darkness she could close the world away, in darkness she could escape the reality that she was stuck in. It was the fault of rulers that brought disaster, yet her people had begun to look to her like one. Despite her disdain for them, she still felt unworthy to be one, to be someone who could raise them up out of their miserable lives.

Her mind swirled like a monsoon, howling winds and rain rushing every which way, attacking at all angles. She couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t do this. She never could do this! What was she thinking…? She would only prop up her people to throw them ever deeper into their pits of despair!

“ **MOVE!** ” a voice boomed, louder than thunder. It shook Freya out of her darkness. “Quickly! Get to the gate! **NOW!** ”

There was no time for doubt. Freya felt the smooth frigid steel in her claws and leapt to the source, hopping across ruined buildings with ease.

Freya balanced herself on one foot atop a bent weathervane, scanning for anything in the eternal rain. A pair of shadows shook in her vision, followed by something pink, the color of raw flesh. She leapt towards it, her footing sure, her destination set. She landed at one of the gate’s walls, near a hole that had been turned into nothing more than a pile of rubble. She raised her spear and prepared to attack.

“Do not interfere!” Beatrix screamed, parrying the creature’s claws, sending it reeling in pain and rage. _Could she have truly sensed me?_ Freya lowered her weapon but watched intently, at the ready.

Two Cleyran oracles stumbled and cried out. Both were women that Freya recognized from the destroyed town in the desert. Their usual silks that had once drifted beautifully in the hot breeze of Cleyra now sagged and sank, stained with brown and red. Once confident dancers, free of war and pain, masters of footwork, but now they struggled to even run through the slippery rubble up the gate.

They limped and cried, but at least they gained some distance between themselves and the monster. One’s leg appeared to give out, but the other oracle scrambled back and dragged her behind a fallen wall where they watched in horror. Freya kept watch from above. She would allow nothing to harm them from any angle.

Beatrix dived under the beast’s flames, diverting its attention away from the gate, away from the oracles. Freya recognized it as a dragon, an Ironite. They were a common monster found around Burmecia, and in times before, were used as nothing more than training fodder for her fellow knights.

However, since their fall, the dragons mustered up their courage to fight back, to get revenge on their weakened predators. As time went on, it was becoming more and more common to hear tales of dragons picking up friends and family and dropping them onto the jagged rubble of their homes. They would feast, bloody and vicious, smug in their cruel vengeance.

Beatrix’s sword slashed through the dragon’s iron claws, sent spirals of blood into the rubble. She grit her teeth and clenched her broken eye under the rain, but even in the slick mud, her stance proved immoveable.

It swooped down into her, furious as it bled, flames, claws, and blood singing against metal. Beatrix caught it in one small leap, slicing off a wing and sending the dragon writhing into the ground.

Still, the beast did not relent. Wings or no, it towered over Beatrix, a mass of pulsating flesh and hatred. Flames and steam hissed out of the wounds at its neck, cauterizing itself, keeping it going.

Beatrix never flinched. She checked her surroundings once and only once. The oracles were a safe distance away. She held her sword high into Burmecia’s stormy skies. A lightning bolt struck it and the gold-plated weapon surged with power that Freya could hardly comprehend. 

She stabbed the sword point directly into the dragon’s stomach, thunder and electricity screaming through it, throwing it into a seizure of mindless clawing and fire. Beatrix ended it in one swift movement, pulling her thunder blade up and across its skull, leaving the dragon in nothing but a steaming pile of flesh, cut almost completely in half.

Beatrix swiped the blood off her blade and sheathed it. She approached the two terrified oracle women who had taken shelter in the rubble and knelt before them. Freya’s ears twitched as she listened.

_I should do something._

“Please, get to safety.”

The two women shrieked in terror at the sight of Beatrix. They remembered her. Who could forget after all? She was a nightmare that plagued many, not the dragon.

A claw scratched desperately at her face, raking Beatrix in red. Cleyrans had no sense of battle, they never wanted to raise their hand against another living thing. But any creature cornered, humanoid or not, is sure to try to defend itself, to try and survive, to protect the ones they love. 

Freya readied her spear once more, feet tensed against the rubble, about to jump.

But Beatrix merely looked away. She did not raise her blade; she did not cry out. She merely stayed kneeling before them.

The oracle helped her injured friend up and they found the strength to scramble up the slick steps and into the gate once more. Beatrix did not move.

_I should have jumped in after she slew the dragon. Why did I wait?_

Freya jumped to the women and helped them find their way to other refugees.

* * *

Another night. Another nightmare. When Freya awoke, she quickly drank from the rose canteen, drowning the nightmares in her throat away before she could remember them. She shook her head. They were nothing more than twisted shadows in her mind, something clawing and scraping, but she could not and did not want to know their forms.

The Cleyran oracles from yesterday had hopefully settled in. Freya had seen the terror in their eyes much too often in her people. The animal-like instinct that took over, that made them lose themselves—it was familiar. How long had they lived like that? Would they ever be able to return to themselves? Could they ever come back from this?

_Can I ever come back from this?_

Freya sat over her bed and let out another dark sigh. It was pointless to keep worrying. She had spent her whole life worrying for the worst. She was right, of course. The worst did happen. Even worse than she could have ever imagined. But what good did it do? Being right, worrying, running away… it didn’t help her when the time came to it.

She stood up and put on her thick coat again. It was still damp, just like everything else, but she was used to the extra weight.

She had to keep going. Had to keep trying. Even if she was alone.

As Freya stepped out into the downpour of silver rain and into Burmecia’s morning, she nearly tripped over something. Something harsh, something metal, something cold.

Beatrix sat near the door, arms crossed, back pressed against the wall. Freya knelt to eye level. Beatrix had fallen asleep. Beatrix’s eyes seemed to wince rather than lay peacefully. Her frown was even more apparent than when she was awake. It didn’t appear she meant to sleep. A tattered awning sheltered her head from the rain, but only slightly. She must have been soaked to the bone, must have been freezing.

But that wasn’t all. A claw mark still bled across her face, the color of rusted blades.

“Don’t you have healing magic?” Freya found herself saying. Beatrix’s healing was said to be nearly as strong as her blade.

Beatrix’s eye slowly opened. There was a moment of realization, but only a moment.

“I do.”

…

_She’s exhausted. She’s killing herself._

**LET HER! SHE DESERVES IT!**

_She didn’t make the order to kill our people._

**BUT SHE FOLLOWED IT!**

_Would I have done the same thing in her situation, I wonder?_

**YOU DIDN’T. SHE DID.**

_She is trying her hardest to atone for what she did! For what orders she followed! For her ignorance, for her kingdom!_

**SHE WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH.**

_And neither will I._

Freya let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Her claw moved to Beatrix’s face, to the bloody cuts, to the scar tissue of her sightless eye. Beatrix flinched but did not move. She stared into Freya, defiant yet broken.

Freya’s long nails trailed along Beatrix’s neck. So soft. So open.

**KILL HER NOW!**

_It’s what she wants._

**YOU CAN’T KILL HER!**

_You are too weak._

**DON’T BECOME HER!**

_Kill her and you’ll be free of this._

**_DON’T HURT HER ANYMORE._ **

**_DO YOU LOVE HER?_ **

**_Do you hate her?_ **

**_Are you just desperate?_ **

**_HOW COULD YOU DO THIS AFTER WHAT SHE DID TO YOU?!_ **

**_WHY WOULD YOU LET HER GET AWAY WITH IT?!_ **

**_YOU’RE DISGUSTING. YOU’RE WORSE THAN HER._ **

Freya’s mind raced, it swirled, it cried, it screamed and raged. All the while, Beatrix looked on, drenched in blood and mud, her expression betraying nothing.

**You won’t be able to live with yourself.**

_I can’t live with myself either way! Every choice is wrong!_

**Think about your people! Think only about them! Keep her alive, she is useful! KILL HER AND THEY WILL REJOICE.**

_But what about me? Don’t I matter? What about what I want?_

**YOU WANT TO KILL HER! You want to hold her. YOU WANT HER GONE. You need her.**

**_ENOUGH!_ **

That was enough. It was time to take a page from Beatrix. Stop thinking. Just do what your instincts tell you.

Freya’s claws glided over the wound raked across Beatrix’s face. A warm wind blew from her muzzle and across Beatrix, gently tousling her soaked and tangled hair. The rust in her wounds slowly faded, stitched together before Freya’s eyes until there was nothing left but pink and silver from the rain.

Beatrix’s eye widened.

_I can’t kill her. I couldn’t live with myself. I don’t want her to suffer. Even if it makes me weak, even if it makes me despicable to my people. I can’t. Life is too precious. After everything I’ve seen. I can’t._

“Get up,” Freya ordered. Her voice was as cold as the frigid winds and rain, perhaps more than she’d liked.

Beatrix obeyed with little more than a grunt even in her exhausted state.

“Come inside,” Freya said, leading the way back in. Freya thought she noticed hesitation, but Beatrix had always been the dutiful knight, hadn’t she? “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine, my lady,” Beatrix lied, staring up ever so slightly at Freya.

“You’re not.” Freya sighed. She knew this was going to be difficult. If not on herself, but also with Beatrix’s stubborn nature. “You’re getting sloppy.”

Beatrix stalled. “My apologies.”

“Have you eaten anything since you came here? Have you bathed? Have you slept besides falling unconscious at my doorstep like a wounded animal?”

Beatrix stiffened. “I have eaten only what is necessary. The rain is all I need. And I will not let it happen again, my lady.”

Freya let out another sigh. “You need to take better care of yourself.” Her claw found its way on Beatrix’s face again, this time over her scarred eye. Her mind still raced with insults and desires and yearning and sorrow, but she did her best to ignore it.

Was it Freya’s imagination? Beatrix seemed to lean into Freya’s touch. Her hair was so heavy, her body so cold. “I will, my lady.”

Freya brushed a lock of matted damp hair away from Beatrix’s sightless eye. Did it hurt? Did the constant stream of rain irritate the scar? Even Beatrix’s healing magic could never fix this.

“The people are still afraid of your image,” Freya found herself saying, gazing into her wound, into that sightless eye. It flinched.

“I will do better about keeping my distance,” Beatrix promised.

A breath escaped Freya’s lips. Her heart pounded.

“No. We just need to make them less afraid of you.” Freya felt as though she had lost control of herself, but she did not want to get it back.

Beatrix blinked. “I don’t understand, my lady.”

_What am I doing…?_

Freya sat down against her bed. Beatrix followed her every movement, her cheek still glowing with warmth where Freya had touched.

Freya pulled her tail into her hands. She knew how they shook; she felt the voices screaming in her skull against it, but she ignored them. Her heart beat like a drum and it was the only thing she wanted to listen to. She delicately untied the yellow ribbon at her tail and stood to face Beatrix.

“My lady…?” Beatrix breathed out. Freya wrapped her hands around Beatrix’s face, tying the soft silk of the ribbon around her sightless eye. She felt the way Beatrix gasped against her snout, the way she flinched at this strange touch.

“There,” Freya said, a hint of pride finally in her voice. She stood back to admire her handiwork. To replace the eyepatch that Freya had ripped apart in a rage, Freya used her tail ribbon instead, complete with a small bowtie, just above her broken eye. “This should let everyone know that you are mine.”

Beatrix quickly looked into a nearby puddle in the room. Her eye widened as she stared. The rain still darkened her hair, faded out her tattered and stained coat, but the yellow ribbon shone brightly against the doom and gloom of Burmecia.

“My lady, I…” Beatrix touched it, fingers brushing against it, as if afraid she would break it, as if she could not believe it was real. “But what about you?”

Freya held up her hand. Was she smiling? Was it wrong to? She couldn’t help it. “Don’t worry. I have plenty more.” She pulled out a red ribbon from her coat pocket and quickly wrapped it around in a bow at her tail.

Beatrix nodded. She didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“And from now on…” Freya continued. “If you need to sleep. Sleep in here. You won’t do us any good as a broken woman.”

“My lady, I cannot…”

Despite that Freya was nobody’s superior, that Freya was a knight to a destroyed kingdom, she said, “That’s an order.”

Beatrix paused but said, “Understood.”

Freya moved to the broken door frame, spear at her side. “Your next order is to spend the day resting. I need you in peak performance from now on. When I am through with my duties, I expect to see you here tonight. Are we clear?”

Beatrix nodded. “Crystal, my lady.” Her legs wobbled as she fell back against the bed, a deep sigh escaping her lips.

“Good.”

Freya departed back into Burmecia’s silver skies dripping with eternal rain. She noted the spring in her step as she leapt. She still wasn’t sure she made the right choice, but for now, she felt like she could truly help her people. For now, she truly felt like she could help herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turned out, I needed to write even more of these two. The first chapter showed Beatrix's feelings, but I really wanted to also show Freya's as well besides the rage, since she is not usually an angry person.
> 
> I also really wanted to show their bond grow for each other more than just a hint and give more hope for the future.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
